


Villa Rosie

by MissAMD1999



Category: Blur, Pulp (Band)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7686523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissAMD1999/pseuds/MissAMD1999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Graham Coxon, a loner, finds himself thrown into a whirlwind of happy accidents after one chance encounter with three "special" men from the new hot spot in Camden town, Villa Rosie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I've been writing this for a while.

"It's a nice place, innit Damon?" the landlord asked, wiping his nose in a sleazy manner.

Damon dragged his finger across a small part of the corner of the bar counter, looking at the dust on his finger.

"It's dusty."

"Nothing we can't fix," shrugged Dave.

When Dave explored the place for while with the landlord, Damon stood on the huge stage that took up 2/4ths of the floor. He jumped on it. It was pretty sturdy. Lights of all colors stood above him, and he zoned out, his thoughts on performing here plaguing his mind before he was interrupted by Dave to come and check out the offices.

Such a nice place for so little? Something must be up.


	2. One.

The thump of his bag and the slamming of the front door scared his cat, Bastard, who had just happened to pass there. He looked at it from over his glasses, a small, tired smile playing on his lips as Bastard meowed.

The bastard.

Graham was tired. Very, very tired. Exhausted even! 1993 wasn't treating him well, and he wasn't sure why.

First, no one was buying his art anymore. All of his customers stopped coming, calling his art "shit". One morning, even, he got up and found his favorite piece he's ever given away, in shreds in front of his flat door. That hurt so much that he picked up the shreds, tried to put them back together, got frustrated, and sat on the floor, sobbing as he cradled his knees.

Secondly, he started seeing a therapist. It was some old, sleazy bloke in the middle of Camden town, recommended by an old customer named Louise. She was the old lady above him who liked to make fish and chips every Sunday afternoon and called Graham, "Grem". The therapist was a long-time friend of hers but after 3 visits, Graham stopped going. He hated that man.

Thirdly, and most importantly, he was kicked out of his favorite pub. It was one little drunken brawl over the jukebox that caved in too quickly, and resulted in a black eye and a good-bye.

So here he was, the magnificent Graham Coxon, stuck in his small, overcrowded flat, with his annoying cat, wanting a drink or two to calm his nerves.

He slipped off his black trainers and headed to his not-so-soft black leather sofa, Bastard following his lead like a marching band. That damn cat won't leave me alone... Graham plopped himself on the couch, found the remote, and switched on the television, the brightness filling the room instantaneously, making him squint. This is how his night was going to look.

Then, the ads appeared, one by one, talking about clearly pointless things, or at least to him. Bastard meowed, shifting onto Graham's lap as if to say "change this channel".

"Alright, alright, quit it, I'll change the c-"

All of a sudden, a familiar song began to play, the one Graham heard thousands of times when the TV was running behind him as he worked on art piece. The one he found himself humming over and over again once in a blue moon. He never really paid attention to it, however, because these adverts were always pointless and he had better things to do. But because he had nothing better to do...

"A sweeter life at Villa Rosie every night, so tasty..."

Bastard meowed again, headbutting Graham in the stomach.

"Sod off Bastard!" Graham exclaimed, shoving the cat off him, Bastard falling onto the floor with a thud, hissing at him. The address of the place flashed on the screen, while a blond man appeared to be singing the song in front of the place.

A new pub?

It wasn't far from his house.

Graham hopped off his sofa, stretching in his gray jumper. He walked and put back on his trainers, and grabbed his bag, checking for his wallet and keys.

Bastard stood by the door, his ears perked up in confusion as if to say, "you don't leave much anymore, where are you going?"

"I'll be back, right?" Graham said as he opened his door.

The cat meowed once more, as if in acknowledgement, and Graham was off again into the streets of Camden.

_____________________________________________________________________

In his business casual (which consisted of a Fred Perry shirt and jeans), Damon strutted down the street in high confidence.

It was time to visit Villa Rosie, his "investment" for the night. Well, he didn't invest on it his own, but it still felt good to have a piece of it to call his own.

The location was pretty far from Damon's flat, but his partner, Mr. Rowntree, was always there to open on time, greet the workers, file all the proper paperwork and such in the evenings as Damon tried to arrive. All Damon had to do was manage the place at night, help out with the payments, and keep the musical acts coming. Every night the drunken crowd would lap up whatever came up on that stage, and tonight it was Damon.

He wasn't even sure how he convinced Mr. Rowntree to let him perform in the pub.

That day, he walked into the office above the pub, a room which was too big for Mr. Rowntree alone. Damon was nervous and sweaty, his hair sticking up in different directions as his shirt stuck to his body.

Mr. Rowntree, or Dave, as Damon called him outside of work, seemed to always be dressed up, but then again, it was the only thing that made the 29 year old attractive, or at least to Damon.

When Damon stepped in quietly, Dave was busily writing on a sheet of paper that was on one big table, surrounded by worksheet after worksheet.

"Mr. R-Rowntree?" Damon stuttered, walking towards the desk.

Dave's serious composure turned into glee when he saw the dirty blond, a grin settling on his face.

"Damon! You're here early! Come sit! I told you, call me Dave, we're still mates!"

Damon smiled lightly back at Dave, sitting on a leather-brown chair.

"Sorry, it sticks sometimes."

Dave put his pen down and folded his hands, giving all his attention to Damon.

"Well, uh, y'know I wrote the song for the advert..."

"Yes, and business hasn't been better!" Dave cheered, holding up a spreadsheet filled with numbers that Damon couldn't quite see without his reading glasses. "You have quite the musical ear, Dames."

'It's because I'm a bloody musician,' Damon thought rudely.

"And all the artists and bands you've been asking to play every night are incredible as well, when I stick the night out," Dave added.

"Well, that's what I came to talk to you about."

"Is there a problem finding performers?"

"Oh, no, no, it's just that I was wondering if I could perform one of these nights? I have all these new songs..." Damon trailed off, playing with a string hanging off his shirt.

Dave sat back in his chair, stretching his arms and folding his hands.

"What day? I can manage the pub that night and you can think of it as a day off."

Damon stored that memory in the back of his brain, a smile creeping on his face as he approached the lights and glamour of Villa Rosie.

Until he knocked into him, sending them both tumbling on to the pavement.


	3. Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend you listen to Dizzy by (SEYMOUR) when it gets to that part. Just the beginning though.

Alex felt his body hit the floor with a loud thud, the cigarette in his mouth unharmed.

"Oi, sorry Alex,"Damon said, picking himself off from the cold pavement. He held out a hand to Alex, who took it without any thought and lifted himself up.

"You were in a hurry there, Dames."

"I'm performing tonight, remember?"

Alex searched his mind to remember when Damon told him this. He was drunk most of the time whenever he saw Damon, anyways.

" 'Ave a light?" Alex asked, derailing the previous question towards him.

Damon stuck his hand in his pocket, searching through the random shit before finally putting his hand on his lighter. He lit Alex's cigarette, Alex inhaling the smoke and sighing it out. He handed Damon his cigarette, but Damon refused.

"I 'ave to keep my voice, remember?"

Alex shrugged, sticking the cigarette back into his mouth, a smirk of some sorts playing on his soft lips.

Alex was a character. The two first met when Alex got himself into a little altercation from messing and mouthing off two guys, and came running into newly opened Villa Rosie with a bloody nose.

_Alex couldn't seem to stop running, not caring that his nose was bleeding profusely and that he looked like a madman sprinting this fast midday. But he had to get away from these fools!_

_He saw a small store that had their door open, wide open, though it was close to the holiday season. But Alex didn't care about that, he had to hide, and fast._

_"Get back here, fucker!" Alex could hear one of the guys yell afar as he reached the threshold of the store. But it wasn't a store. It was a pub. Alex quickly walked down a little hallway, stopping at the threshold in quiet surprise._

_A ginger man stood behind a counter, wiping it down with a very clean towel as a blond man acted aloof with the instruments on stage, singing and laughing with childish glee. They didn't seem to notice Alex's presence. Alex stepped in a little bit more, the dimness of the small little hallway hiding him not only from the men chasing him, but the two men in the place as well. The blond one started a riff while beginning to sing:_

_"_ **_I pump poison into my body,_ **

**_to forget that I am me._ **

**_I feel good, wonderful,_ **

**_I forget I have feelings at all..._ **

**_You're dizzy."_ **

_The blond's voice was different to anything Alex had ever heard. He was almost mesmerized by this strange, blued-eyed blond, that seemed not to care about his surroundings, dizzy himself..._

_"Oi, who are you? You're bleeding from the nose mate you alright?" The ginger asked, concerned at Alex's current state, before Alex collapsed onto the floor, losing consciousness._

_When Alex came back, he was in a room, but he wasn't exactly sure where he was. It was a beautiful brown office, a bit old but to Alex's standards, good enough. He was laid on a soft couch, with tissue up one of his nostrils._

_"Glad you're awake, mate. You're lucky your nose isn't broken."_

_Alex jumped up, looking over at the blond man sitting on a chair across from him._

_"What's your name?" The blond man asked Alex._

_"Steve. But everyone calls me by my middle name, Alex."_

_"And just where exactly are you from?"_

_"Bournemouth. But I'm in London for uni," Alex answered, a bit annoyed by the persistent questioning from the man._

_"I'm Damon. The ginge you saw earlier was my mate and business partner, Dave."_

_Alex passed his hand into his ever-growing fringe, trying to think of things to say to Damon._

_"Do you like music, Alex?" Damon inquired, catching Alex by quiet surprise._

_"Yes. I play the bass, actually."_

_"Wonderful. I play a lot of things but I mostly sing."_

_"Well, I've heard, and it's lovely," Alex complemented, getting up from the sofa. "I need to get going now."_

_"Wait," Damon started, "Stay for a drink, eh? "_

_Alex turned around, watching Damon straight in the eyes. They were a bluish-green, and pretty, and seemed to be lit up in some sort of excited matter. His smile supported Alex's claim. How could Alex say no?_

"Can you play bass with me tonight, or are you gonna be too pissed to do it?" Damon inquired abruptly, breaking Alex from his pleasant memory.

"Free champagne and it's a deal," Alex grinned, holding out his hand to Damon.

They shook on it.

Alex held Damon's hand afterwards, leading the blonde boy towards the heat of Villa Rosie, and the receptionist, Kayla.

Damon felt like there should no reason for a receptionist. They were a pub, not a fucking restaurant! But somehow, Alex had persuaded Dave enough to have her there to help lost bands. Last week she was able to get the young band Radiohead to the place, since she knew the whole of England.

She was American... But knew the maps of the U.K.

And Damon still did not like her attitude.

"Hello Damon, glad to see you again," Kayla smiled from behind her podium, a booklet opened in front of her. "I had no clue you were on the bill tonight."

"Of course you didn't," Damon grumbled, looking around indifferently.

"Any new drunks tonight?" Alex asked, leaning onto the podium.

'Always a flirt,' Damon thought to himself.

"Well, there's one new guy, but he doesn't seem like a drunk. He walked in here pretty frantically, and barely talked. I mean, when I last looked over, he was talking to Dave."

This caught Damon's attention, and he frantically looked around to see the new customer. And there he was, a young looking lad with black glasses and shaggy brown hair talking to Dave. He had little ticks about him, Damon could see, because the boy would not stop messing with his hair or chewing on whatever nails he had left.

He was a nervous one.

"I know that kid," Alex smiled, peering from the podium.

"What's his name?" Damon asked, still fixated on the boy. He looked familiar.

"Graham or something like that. He was an art major at my uni but he left before me. I had quite the crush on him, though."

"You have a crush on everyone, Alex," Damon told him as he started to walk away.

Graham. The nervous boy's name was Graham. And Graham somehow found interest in talking with Dave. And as Damon grew closer, he could hear that they were having a fine time talking to each other.

"How's your girlfriend, she's well isn't she?" Graham asked Dave with a smile.

"We got married a few months ago! She was asking why you weren't at the wedding..."

"I've moved since I last saw you, all my mail hasn't moved yet. But Dave this place is real nice," Damon heard Graham say, looking directly at the stage.

"Well, I do have a great business partner, and speak of the devil," Dave laughed as Damon walked up to Dave. Graham immediately fell silent, and his smile disappeared.

"Damon, this is Graham, we've been friends for quite a long time."

"Y-yeah," Graham stuttered, "very long time we've been friends."

"Well it's nice to meet you Graham," Damon smiled. Graham averted his eyes, busily staring at his fingers. Damon shrugged, and turned his attention to Dave. He had much more to worry about than the nervous boy.

 


	4. Three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I usually write while listening to certain songs, so The Selfish Giant by Damon should be (if you want) listened to while reading this. Thanks.

Graham wasn't sure why he fell silent around "Damon".

But soon all the memories came flowing like a rushed river during a storm, and he felt his heart burning with some type of anger.

He remembered the days were he didn't want to go to school just so he wouldn't have to see the poor blonde get beaten up over trivial things.

_They didn't know each other, but they both knew Damon's bullies. Graham knew then if he put his mouth into anything he'd be next, but it seemed as if all the guys loved to take their frustration out on Damon._

_There was one day when Graham came into the bathroom and saw Damon trashed up in the corner with a bleeding lip and black eye, shaking uncontrollably and racked with sobs. Obscenities and slurs were written all over Damon's face, reading things no one should ever call another human. Graham, as if almost instinctual, grabbed paper towel and soaked it in cold water, handing it to Damon. Damon looked up at Graham at first, flinching at the thought that Graham was just another bully. But when he saw the brunette was trying to help, he slowly took the paper and started dabbing at his lip. Damon thought Graham was done, but Graham still held his hand out._

_He wanted to help Damon up._

_"Thanks mate," Damon smiled, taking Graham's hand and lifting himself off the ground. "I thought you were going to hit me like the rest of them. I don't know why they hate me so much, you know?"_

_Graham nodded in silence as Damon walked to the sink, staring into the mirror for a bit before he began washing his face._

_"They don't like me because I'm better than them is all," Damon smiled at the mirror, looking at Graham. His eyes trailed down to Graham's feet. Graham watched at Damon and his feet, anxiously biting his nails._

_"Those are crap, mate. Mine are the proper sort," Damon snickered, turning and pointing his feet towards Graham. Graham's eyes narrowed, he crossed his arms, and stormed out of the bathroom, looking self-consciously at the pair of shoes he had for a year._

_No wonder the other guys beat the shit out of him, Damon was too straight-forward._

_It was the last time Graham had ever saw Damon, however, as soon enough Damon disappeared into the crowd, and Graham forgot about him._

"Excuse me, Graham, I have to talk to Damon for a second," Dave said, looking gravely at Damon. While the pair walked away grimly, a tall, brown headed boy slithered his way across the bar and deliberately bumped into Graham's side, collapsing onto the black stool behind him.

"Remember me, Grah?" Alex cheesed, watching Graham's angry and confused face turn into solemn glee.

"Still in uni?" Graham asked, biting his nail as he turned and stared at his beer bottle.

"I have French & English people to swoon."

"You won't learn anythin' there, waste of money."

"So is that why you left, Mr. Big Shot?" Alex sneered, easing his head closer to Graham's ear, "'cause if it was a true waste of money you wouldn't be sat here in this lowlife shit of a pub."

Graham stopped biting his nail and looked at Alex, their faces too close for personal space.

"If I stayed, I would of turned into an asshole like you."

Alex's grin grew wider, and the two laughed as if they were old pals who hadn't seen each other in years, which reigned true.  
\----------------------------------------------  
"You didn't think about a guitarist till now?!"

Damon winced at Dave's yelling. He didn't see the problem of not having a guitarist as such a big deal.

"I thought I could just wing it..."

"Damon, we both know you're good at piano, but shit at guitar, and most of the songs you're performing tonight needs one, I should know," Dave sighed, rubbing his temples.

"There could be someone in here tonight who can play," Damon mumbled, hoping Dave wouldn't yell at him again.

Dave looked around, his eyes landing on the back of Graham's head, busily shaking at the question Alex had posed.

Graham knew Alex? Small world.

"Wait a minute....Graham!" Dave smiled, making Damon perk up before slumping back against the wall.

"That kid? Dave, how do you know if he could get this down? Plus I barely know him!"

"How do you think Graham knows me? He's been playing guitar long before I even started secondary school. Give him a chance, before you never perform at your own pub ever again."

"Alright, fine," Damon sighed in defeat, kicking at a bottle top on the floor. "How do you know he'll be up for this?"

"I don't know. Maybe  **you**  should ask him."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So... Dave and, uh-"

"Damon," Alex smiled at Graham, sipping on the champagne bottle the bartender reluctantly gave to him.

"Yeah... They own here?"

"Yeah! A year and a half or so now. And they have performers every night! Even tonight Damon's performing here. He asked me to play bass with him. I don't think he has a guitarist though, the way Dave's stared at him like an angry dog," Alex continued, an idea brewing in his head. "Don't you play guitar?"

Graham eyes blew up, looking at Alex in nervousness, but proceeded to nod.

"Look, I know you don't know Dam-"

"We went to school together. For years. We never talked."

"Listen, the point is, just do this for him although you don't know him well. He'll pay you and you won't ever have to do it again. Just so he doesn't embarrass himself. If not for him then for me. Remember when we used to jam together? It would be like that. I promise."

Alex watched Graham contemplate in his mind to make a decision, also eying Damon slowly make his way towards them.

"I don't know Alex, I-I haven't picked up my guitar in months and who knows if I'm any good anymor-"

"Hey... Graham innit?" Damon inquired, causing Graham to jump like a startled cat.

"Yes, that's me, Graham. I am Graham," Graham nervously answered.

"I was just asking Graham if he would play for us and he thought about it and said he would! Didn't you say so, Grah?" Alex interjected.

Graham's eyes narrowed as he turned his attention Alex, looking extremely flustered and furious.

"Yeah. It's no problem."

"Ah, thanks mate. Don't think that you'll be just free labor, I'll make sure Dave gives you something for this. Would you like to see the guitars I have? I have this closet in my office and you can look through it."

"A-any guitar will be fine, thanks." Graham stared at his beer bottle.

"No, I want you to come and look. I don't wanna bring out a guitar you dislike. If it makes ya feel betta Alex can come along," Damon insisted, Alex putting his thumbs up.

Dave began testing the mics, causing to catch the attention of all the patrons in the place.

"O-okay," Graham stuttered, getting up and looking behind him to make sure Alex did the same. Then the 3 men traveled to Damon's "office". 


End file.
